Transfixed by the scene before her, Laura relaxed on the leather couch in their cozy world sealed away behind a metal hatch with the increasingly faded label "Commander" on the front. In front of her, Bill trailed after their now very mobile toddler as he attempted to wrangle Evie into pajamas. Bill wanted to take care of his daughter alone that night because tomorrow morning at 0800, he'd be transferring his flag to Pegasus and leaving with a military detachment for the attack on the Cylon Resurrection Hub. Until then, Laura smiled and watched this side of Bill set free in their quarters. Here he was a softer man, all care and warmth. He couldn't be that man on duty tomorrow while facing the Cylons. He'd compartmentalize the husband and the father and be the Admiral.
They'd spent time with all the children earlier; the grown ones had come by for a late dinner and combat readiness briefings. Lee and Kara reported that unit cohesion on the flight deck had improved while seditious ramblings cooled. One mutiny averted. It seemed the Admiral's talk with his fellow military leaders did the trick; he'd called them over to Galactica intending to throw the book at them— they all knew that even whispers of mutinous thoughts from their people was a no-no— but when he saw the look in their eyes, he poured them a drink saluted the fallen, giving their grief and anger the space it had earned. "Anger has such a powerful grip on the mind. It's almost like a python. It can squeeze out all other thought, suffocate all other emotion, until everything is dead except the rage. Our duty is to the living, and the more united we are, the stronger we are. Don't let your people make us weak." Then the moment was over. Sometimes, no matter how deserved the anger was, it needed to be put aside for the greater good. He'd learned that long ago.
At the end of dinner, the senior Adama pilots switched to advising Liam, who'd be flying his first offensive op:
"All your training will kick in, Liam."
"Double-check your bird before you get in the cockpit, Liam."
"Turn your comms off before you fart, Liam."
"If a Cylon dives on you, don't evade but fly to meet it, Liam."
"Take a shit before you go into battle, Liam."
"I have flown before!" he yelled at them while Zak patted his head patronizingly, quite thankful he'd become a medic.
It all had Laura's stomach knotting in anxiety. Even now while she tried to relax on the couch, she could almost taste the fear in her–something sour and almost metallic that lingered in her throat and made her stomach twist even more. It never seemed to entirely go away these days as the line between prophetic warnings and a mother's worried nightmares blurred together. A shadow of dark foreboding always seemed to be over her since their run-in with Cavil and jump from Fallback Omega.
A loud squeal made her jump as Evie dove under the wooden table in their quarters, giggling madly. Bill groaned and grumbled as he knelt down to the tune of several bones popping in protest.
"Evelyn Judith Roslin Adama, I'm too old for this!" he grunted in exasperation as he managed to catch ahold of Evie. He tugged her toward him, tickling her sides. "Silly girl. You're not going to get away with this forever, you know that, right." Despite his warning, Laura watched him give Evelyn an indulgent smile. She remembered how shocked she was twenty years ago when it was apparent that he knew less than she did about bedtime routines. He'd given an embarrassed mumble about having already told her that he'd been an absent father in the former timeline.
Look at him now, look at them now. Sometimes, Laura wished she could go back and tell that dying cancer patient and the man who stayed beside her about moments like this still in their future.
With practiced ease, Bill changed Evie into her pajamas. After brushing her teeth, he put Evie down in bed, and Laura listened to Bill as he read to her, his wonderfully deep voice drifting through their quarters. He conveyed so much love and affection in the gravelly cadence he used to spin a silly tale of dragons, knights, and fantasy. They'd possessed no children's books among his collection of tomes, but Kara, the secret softie that she was, had hoarded spare paper and used her artistic talent to create new ones.
Evie's eyes fluttered closed, and Bill stayed to watch over her sleep until her puffs of breath deepened. He hoped she wouldn't wake during the night, having often woken her parents up with whimpering about the cold or the dark. Bill wanted to believe it was just an ordinary phase she was going through where she woke and protested her surroundings. Pretending at normalcy was difficult when Laura often woke simultaneously with her own dark ramblings, hers being sharper and clearer in detail.
Bill tucked the blankets around his daughter before returning to the main rooms, where he found Laura dozing on the couch. She had removed her shoes, and her legs were tucked under her. He chuckled to himself; you're the life of the party, old man, putting all the girls to sleep. His face softened as he observed her quietly, taking in every detail of her face. He'd never loved someone so much and felt grateful that she'd be staying behind on Galactica tomorrow. At that, his thoughts turned to ruminate on the battle to come; such musings he decided needed a few fingers of ambrosia in accompaniment.
He splashed the amber liquid into a glass, swirling it around before letting it burn a path down his throat and through his body. It soothed Bill's uncharacteristic nerves, which he decided came from leaving the Old Girl behind for this operation. Galactica's place was with the civilian Fleet. She was the guardian of humanity, the leader of the ragtag fugitive fleet. But Bill still didn't like experiencing battle from someplace other than his own CIC.
Hearing Laura grumble sleepily, he downed the rest of the ambrosia and approached her. Ever since Cavil had been unboxed, she'd been going through a particularly intense phase of dreaming. She usually only remembered scattered details. He picked up one of Laura's hands, tracing across her knuckles to wake her gently. Moving her while she slept could trigger a flashback, but she reacted well to this.
"Laura?" he called out softly.
"Don't wanna be here," Laura murmured, and Bill immediately knew her mind had her far away. She rather liked being in their quarters—she'd probably liked his quarters long before warming up to him.
"Laura," he said louder, and her eyes snapped open. Her bleary eyes focused on him as he sat down beside her. "Welcome back to Galactica."
She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. Already the vision-dream fading like writing on sand that the waves smoothed until it vanished.
"Want to talk about it?" he asked, trying to sound casual.
She'd been back at the old Capitol Building in Caprica City, with the crumbled stone and layers of dirt now covering it. After walking around, she'd stood in the middle of the Forum with the statues of the Lords of Kobol. Poseidon was crying a river of tears. Apollo held a baby bird. There was more, but it faded…
"It was nothing," Laura said, shaking her head while shifting so she reclined against him; her back nestled against his chest, and his arm slipped around her. She spared him the helpless feeling her visions could cause. It didn't help that it all rarely made sense until it was too late. She wasn't liking her "gift" at the moment, finding it rather useless.
Bill's hand wrapped around her body and moved in soothing circles across her ribcage and stomach. She looked toward Evelyn's room. "She's asleep?"
"Yeah," he said with a tired sigh.
Laura tilted her head to study him after noticing his tone. "You okay?"
"Fine."
"No, you're not. I can see it on your face."
"I'm supposed to have a good mask," he said in protest. Laura rolled her eyes, settling back against him again.
"I'm your wife. I can see right through it." He scowled even though he knew she couldn't see his face.
"Carolanne never could."
"Don't bring your ex up to distract me. Now, what's wrong?" He chuckled softly and snuggled up closer to her. So she could read him like an open book. Truthfully, it was rather comforting.
"Gonna be a hell of a day tomorrow."
"Yes," Laura agreed, feeling uneasy again. Her nerves were all out of sorts tonight.
"I wish we had more intel on those new Cylon Behemoth Basestars. Only got a couple of recon pictures," he shrugged. "Gives me a bad feeling."
"'A feeling,'" Laura teased, and he pinched her side gently at her verbal prodding.
"Good soldiers listen to their gut feeling," he said.
"So, what will you do?"
"Shoot the enemy before they shoot us."
Turning toward him, she shifted until she was straddling his lap, her skirt bunching up. He put his hands on her hips and pulled her closer to him. When their gazes locked, he read her desire for him along with a flicker of fear.
His grip tightened. "This isn't goodbye, Laura."
"I know. I know. I can't help but worry about you." Her fingers traced his face, moving around to thread in his hair and letting her nails gently scrape his scalp. She couldn't suppress the shiver that ran through her as she committed his tender expression to memory, to play out in her mind for years to come.
"Of course, but this is our time. Our kids are doing well. There was no New Caprica. Cain's playing nice. Hell, there's more than this ol' Battlestar protecting the Fleet, and we're going to attack the enemy. And my wife is healthy and right here."
Holding her hips, he set his lips to her neck, searching for her pulse, strong and steady under his attention. She tilted her head, allowing him access, and made a small sound of pleasure. He chuckled that deep chuckle of his. He knew her so well.
"This is our unwritten future— "
It wouldn't fail. Bill wouldn't allow it.
" —although I think we have plans for the rest of tonight," he rasped, continuing to kiss her neck.
Laughter rippled from her, tension easing from her body.
…
Cavil, the particular One known as Future Cavil, reclined in a hammock strung up between two bulkheads of his Cylon Basestar. Around him, he projected the outside of the ship, plopping himself smack dab in the middle of the outer hull. Future Cavil didn't care if the other Cylons thought it strange. He'd remained boxed for years; his consciousness sealed away while his body was left suspended in goo. After that, no one got to judge him for now preferring this sort of suspension. He smirked; he'd already been programmed with a preference for relaxing on his back while letting others do the hard work. Besides, whether he looked silly or not, self-consciousness remained a frivolous emotion with which machines should have little use.
This is how he wanted to pass the time, so it was how he passed the time. Although comfortable with being encased in dull grey walls and pulsing red light, Future Cavil enjoyed lording over the smooth metal hull that stretched into the distance. Her sleek lines and sweeping curves formed an elegant and efficient killing machine. Beauty met function in design, the utilitarian harmonizing with the pleasing.
"See, I do have a sense of aesthetics, of pleasure," Cavil thought. He hummed to himself, a few off-key bars of a meaningless tune. His weakened, dry vocal cords sounded awful, and he stopped. "All the bipedal designs in the universe and I was stuck in a seventy-year-old man with arthritis in my knees." How the hell could the Five design him this way and call it an act of love.
"Sanctimonious bastards."
Future Cavil had never been able to carry a tune or force his aged fingers to move beyond drawing stick figures, and he'd hated himself for it. Then the day came when he accepted that real machines didn't create art, and he'd never felt happier. I'm programmed, he thought. I might as well stick with what I'm good at doing. So he'd helped program and create the others; the Twos, the Threes. Not content with the children she had, Ellen then tried to make Daniel—the artist. Frak that. Frak her. Frak them all.
Well, maybe this time the Final Five had learned their lesson and accepted that humanity was nothing worth keeping. He still got a good laugh over how easily it had been to kill them. "Come to the airlock; I have a surprise for you." His parents had fallen for it, and then he'd plopped them down all over the Colonies to show them the stupidity of trying to emulate such a flawed creation. Of course, it was after he'd sent the Final Five away that the memories of the future came back. Well, a good machine knew when to upgrade his software and adapt with the times. He could still win.
He slowly clapped to himself when the new Behemoth Basestar flew into his field of view. He still had a sense of aesthetics, and this killer was a beauty.
"Thought you'd approve," another Cavil said, walking into the room and tapping into the projection.
"It'll do, One. It'll do." The touch of familiarity around him, that tingle of recognition, and Future Cavil recognized his brother who'd accessed his memories after he'd been boxed. "So, how many of my memories did you see? Boxed consciousnesses were designed to be inaccessible."
"Not enough," Cavil said, irritation lacing through his tone like poison.
"Isn't that the running theme? Whatever I do isn't quite enough," Future Cavil folded his arms, his mood darkening. "You saw the Orb?"
"Powerful bit of technology."
"With each cycle, I've gotten better at using it and remembered a bit more. I knew to try to attack the Fleet at Ragnar. I remembered to foil the Colonials' recon mission. I placed a Three on Galactica. Tried to destroy Heavyliner 798. You know, this time I finally remembered everything from the last timeline; you'd have loved it—less than 50,000 survivors, enslaving humanity on a planet called New Caprica, suicide bombers..." As Future Cavil spoke, the frustration built in him until he felt like exploding. Instead, he took a deep breath. Machines don't have temper tantrums, even if he felt like beating his hands on the ground like a toddler. Pathetic programming—no wonder his parents decided to create more Cylon models after his "birth."
"Sounds like a lot of laughs," Cavil said, his lips curling up in a sneer. "The plan; a little tweaking here a little shuffling there to make sure our parents had a front-row seat to humanity's downward spiral—"
"And it was almost perfect," Future Cavil exclaimed, his irritation bleeding out into his tone. So much bitterness. "Our parents nearly saw how flawed humanity was, and humanity nearly ended and—"
"—and they still have that front seat," said Future Cavi's irritatingly optimistic twin. He motioned up, gesturing to the projected image of the Behemoth Basestar. "And as you can see, I gleaned from your memories we'd benefit from having more things that go 'boom.' I also knew to keep it hidden from those frakkin' traitors."
"And 'boom' these go."
"These new Basestars can shoot so many nukes at once that you could practically dance across them to any Battlestars engaging them."
"Oh, do tell me more," Future Cavil said, knowing that this would pull him out of the funk into which he'd slumped.
"They carry enough bullets for each of humanity's sins."
"Goody-goody!" Cavil laughed. "At heart. I'm just a machine of simple tastes. I want ships that make other ships go boom, but better. And you designed those and kept them hidden and safe. Made these arthritic fingers good for something."
"Brother, are you sure they'll come? It's suicide to destroy Resurrection."
"They've chosen death." Future Cavil folded his hands behind his head, looking up into space. These new Behemoth Battlestars were quite lovely.
"You want them to come!" the other Cavil realized.
"I want them to feel their failure. You see, desperation breeds foolishness. In their foolishness, humans think they can strike at us when in reality, they'll be bringing me the key to their undoing the second they jump here and expect to be jumping home at the end of their little mass-murder project."
"Their computers. They're bringing the rendezvous coordinates to the rest of the Fleet right to our doorstep! Delightful."
Several lights flashed in the distance, signifying ships jumping into visual range. Future Cavil laughed hysterically, a wheezing sound that quickly left him coughing instead. Damn his human shell with its weakness and softness.
"Well, good morning, Adama. Shall we do battle among the ancient stars and start bringing this cycle to its end? A merry-go-round gets tiring for old men like us."
…
"Pegasus, this is Raptor Two-Three-Zero-Nine with Admiral Adama on final, requesting clearance to land."
"Raptor Two-Three-Zero-Nine, this is Pegasus. You're cleared to land. Approach starboard landing bay, hands-on, speed one-zero-zero. Checkers red, call the ball." Two escort Vipers on each side of the Raptor shot ahead while the ship carrying the Admiral of the Fleet slowed and angled toward the deck. The Vipers headed back to Galactica.
"Pegasus, this is Raptor Two-Three-Zero-Nine. Starboard landing bay, hands-on, speed one-zero-zero. I have the ball."
At 0730, Cain greeted Adama with a crisp salute after his Raptor touched down on the hangar deck. She was an icon of professionalism with her fresh-pressed uniform, mannered behavior, and all emotion hidden.
Around them, the hangar deck reeked of chemical cleaning solution, oil, and acrid chain-smoking. Pilots cleaned and checked their birds until the Vipers, Raptors, and Raiders gleamed under the lights. Knuckledraggers loaded munitions and jury-rigged their way through any last-minute problems. Hoshi's voice crackled over the PA system with a stream of announcements while personnel checked and rechecked all equipment for combat readiness. Everyone looked ready to take on the whole Cylon Fleet, including the Cylons mixed in with the humans and the personnel from Galactica who'd come over after reveille.
Cain fell into step beside Adama, neither speaking more than a basic greeting, both preferring to watch their people. Bill scanned their faces to get an overall impression on the day's mood and saw the sideways stares and the judging glances the mixed Cylon-Human squadrons gave each other. Some of them had accepted the situation better than others, but they all looked like they meant business. He noticed that all humans shied away from the end of the hangar where a Two and a Six painted purple stripes across the torsos of Centurions. There were rows and rows of them— two platoons of Centurions.
Cain gave them a dirty look.
"Keep them on this deck," she ordered the marines stationed at the main hatch of the hangar deck. Adama bit back a comment; despite the alliance, he wouldn't want those clankers waltzing through the decks of Galactica either. Bill grimaced—he was the one advocating the alliance. He wondered if the Cylons painting friendly centurions in Pegasus purple might have been a step too far. Sometimes the Cylons didn't get just how pervasive and lingering human rage could be.
From the starboard hangar deck, he and Cain headed toward the heart of Pegasus, passing open hatches and ladders leading between decks. The center of a warship was reserved for the most critical areas: operations, life support, sickbay, and the Combat Information Center. Adama didn't like the Pegasus even though in her bones she was like most other Colonial warships—utilitarian grey bulkheads lined with conduits and access panels. The lights were too bright, and she wasn't his ship. Maybe he was just too sentimental.
Crew dodged around them as they reported to duty stations. Marines prepared their weapons, filling the corridor with the click-clicks of fingers fiddling with rifle sights, magazines, and safeties. Their job was to repel any Cylon boarding parties.
"You'd think by now someone would have invented a better rifle," Adama heard one marine mutter as he struggled with shoving the magazine clip into place. "Couldn't our new allies have at least figured out energy blasters?"
His companion laughed at him. "Takes too much power."
"You're telling me Cylons haven't figured out a decent battery?"
The banter from the side room faded as the flag officers continued past. The hatch to CIC was flanked by two mean-looking marine guards armed with rifles who looked like they wanted to take on a Centurion or two.
"Admiral on deck," Lt. Hoshi called out when the two flag officers entered CIC. Everyone snapped to attention, including Gina Inviere, who was the Cylon attaché to the Pegasus. Adama nodded to Cain, who returned them to their duties while they both took up their positions at the tactical table.
"So, you know where we're going?" Cain asked Gina.
"Coordinates have been distributed to all attacking ships," Gina said. "It'll take a series of jumps to arrive at the Hub."
"You Cylons aren't backing down?" Cain probed.
Gina gave her the most exasperated and human inhale Cain had ever heard. "We need to do this for both of our peoples."
Adama let Cain get a little angst out of her system, knowing he couldn't smooth over all the Cylon-Human tension. Cain seemed entertained by Gina's irritated reaction and went about ordering her officers with almost a smile on her face. She had Pegasus's FTLs spun up, and the jump coordinates input while all decks called in ready as they approached 0800 hours.
"Put me through to the attacking ships," Adama ordered Hoshi as he picked up the comm unit. He liked Galactica's less sleek comm more. "Report combat status."
"Pegasus reports all decks ready," Cain began the check-in.
"Prometheus is a go," reported Commander Rebecca Garrett, Tigh's replacement on the Battlestar.
"Daedalus is a go," Commander Pertinax next reported.
"Basestar is a go," the Six named Natalie said.
"Valkyrie is a go! Ready to take the fight to the enemy," Commander Ziegler said, and Adama could hear the grin in her voice. He rather liked the small blonde woman with a big personality, a tamer version of Starbuck.
"Slibanus is a go." The smaller escort ships began reporting next.
"Chimera is a go."
"Gwennan is a go."
The corvettes Adrastraea, Epheme, Caleuche, and Medjet, and Excelsior reported ready. And with the last confirmation of readiness, all thirteen of the vessels assigned to the attack were prepared to go. The Bellerophon, Icarus, Argo, and Vingilote would stay behind under the watchful eye of Galactica to protect the civilian Fleet.
"This is Commander Tigh; rendezvous coordinates have been distributed. We'll keep the lights on until you get back."
"Good hunting," Laura added, and Bill could picture her and Tigh standing in Galactica's CIC together. See you both soon, he mentally promised them. For a second, he also imagined his children, who also prepared for battle on the hangar deck and in sickbay before he firmly locked away the husband and father behind the stone facade of Admiral Adama. He rose the comm to his mouth once more.
"All hands, this is Admiral Adama." The mood in CIC got heavier as he spoke. "We have struggled since the attacks, but our strength and our only hope as a people, is to remain undivided. It's been a long and painful journey, but we are not resigned to a dark fate. You all know the mission. We fight on with everything at our command, and now we take this war to the enemy. This will be a tough fight; they outnumber us, they outgun us. But we are fighting for our lives, for our future. We have chosen to walk this path with our former enemies that will lead us to victory over those responsible for destroying our homes. This road will bring us into the future. Take a good look at the men and women that stand next to you. Remember their faces, for one day you will tell your children and your grandchildren that you served with such men and women. And together, we have accomplished feats that will be told and retold down through the ages, and find immortality as only the gods once knew. And now we add another victory. So say we all."Adama said. So say we all; the chant was picked up by all the ships, throughout each deck, until their battle cry vibrated the bulkheads of the vessels themselves. They were ready to take the fight to the enemy.
"Action stations. Prepare to jump on my mark," Adama ordered. Major Kendra Shaw, who operated the jump station, held her hand poised over the FTL controls. Everyone held their breath.
"Execute jump."
Space folded around them, and the ships hurtled to the coordinates. Many experienced a second or two of nausea at the twisting and stretching sensation of the jump. Some closed their eyes involuntarily. Then the world stabilized. The whole process lasted only a few seconds.
"Jump one of seven complete, Admirals. All ships accounted for," Hoshi reported after he double-checked his screen.
"Spin-up FTLs and prepare for the next jump," Cain ordered, maintaining her role as direct CO of Pegasus.
"Ready, sir," Kendra reported. Adama waited for the rest of the ships to ready-up.
"All ships spun-up," Hoshi confirmed.
"Jump."
Adrenaline started to flood their systems as the anticipation grew. The ships jumped again and again until they came to their final jump.
They'd struggled with creating a plan that would disable the Resurrection Hub in time before they spun up their FTLs to get the frak outta the Colonials' warpath. Battlestars were too slow, and Vipers still took precious seconds to launch. Nukes could be shot down. Even saving time by jumping a Raptor or Raider close enough with nukes hot was suicidal; every time a vessel tried to jump with activated nukes, they went off before the jump was completed. Starbuck and Leoben made a plan: jump in a Heavy Raider and have it smash into the FTL engines of the Hub. One Heavy Raider volunteered. Most Colonials still couldn't even wrap their minds around the Raiders having sentience of their own. The brave little ship hoped his sacrifice would help.
"Heavy Raider ready to jump in," Natalie relayed over comm, and Adama motioned for Hoshi to relay the go-ahead. The steady beeping of DRADIS kept the time while distorted radio chatter from headsets surrounded CIC.
"Heavenly Father, grant them the strength, the wisdom, and above all a measure of acceptance," Gina whispered under her breath.
"What is that?" Cain asked.
"Prayer to the Cloud of Unknowing, we say it when a final death is near."
The Cylon Heavy Raider blinked off their DRADIS screen. So far, all was going according to plan. In the span of a breath, it would appear next to the Resurrection Hub that needed to be prevented from jumping away. The waiting forces allowed thirty seconds for the Heavy Raider to do its job. Hurry up and wait was a known sensation for military personnel, and they all hated it.
"Jump," Adama ordered, mentally preparing for the coming fight despite the nerves prickling in him. He ran through multiple scenarios in his mind again, visualizing how he'd react to each one. The mental exercise kept him from ever freezing with indecision, which would mean the difference between life and death. Space stretched and twisted for a second, a vortex of stars and void.
Space normalized around them again. Instantly, images and data began flowing through the sensors. The DRADIS lit up with red. The Hub appeared in the center of the mess, drowning in her net of protection. The layout was just as their unlikely Cylon allies had predicted, with the four Behemoth Basestars embracing the Hub closely and the other Basestars in a kilometers-wide tactical spread. Squadrons of Cylon Raiders weaved erratically at the sudden invasion of the Colonial military.
"Lot of ships out there," Fisk muttered, eyes widening. They'd jumped in close to the Hub, an advantage of having the rebel Cylons' hybrid's pinpoint accuracy. Now they had to point and shoot.
"Main target is five clicks away."
"The Hub's FTL has been hit; they aren't going anywhere." A hint of sadness graced Gina's face.
"Valkyrie confirms Hub's FTL is down," Ziegler said over coms.
So far, so good and decent odds, Adama thought, taking stock of the number of enemy ships on the screen. This was it; the go, no-go moment. We're committing, he decided. He turned to Cain.
"Take us in," he said. "Surround the Hub. Prometheus engage Behemoth in sector 443, Daedalus take Behemoth in 556, Valkyrie take Behemoth in 332, and Basestar can have the remaining Behemoth. Cain, take out the Hub before they try and limp away."
The deck shifted under them as Pegasus took a volley of fire.
"Get the Vipers in the air!" Cain said. "And someone do your job and warn the rest of us about incoming missiles."
"Adrastraea, Epheme, Caleuche, and Medjet cover your Battlestar's six," Adama ordered.
"Vipers away," Hoshi reported, the glow of his terminal reflecting off his face in the dimly lit CIC at Condition One.
"Order Vipers and Raiders to attack the Raiders. Leave the Basestars to the Battlestars. Escort ships cover the Vipers."
Most of CIC had never seen so many blips on the DRADIS. Pegasus barreled toward the Hub. Cain ordered gun crews to engage targets while Fisk helped coordinate Pegasus's Viper wings.
"Incoming ordinance!" shouted Kendra when countermeasures failed, and Cylon missiles slipped through. Adama gripped the tactical table as the missile crashed into the side of Pegasus. Crew staggered, but most clutched their stations and remained at their posts.
"Closing in on target."
Just then, more red blinked onto the DRADIS as Cylon reinforcements arrived, including two more Behemoths. Fisk's jaw dropped in astonishment. Everyone in CIC felt their stomachs plummet. Adama's eyes simply widened, which for him was quite the panic.
"We're being double enveloped by the enemy," Cain realized. Irritation stabbed through her at this play from the Cylons' unknown reserve. "They baited us in!"
"Sir, one of the Basestars is heading right for us. CBDR."
Constant bearing, decreasing range. A collision course.
…
AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think!